


First Meetings

by stripeyheart



Series: Older Sam/Younger Frodo [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Class Issues, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, wrong ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stripeyheart/pseuds/stripeyheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Sam Gamgee meets someone in Mr. Bilbo's orchard. However, his Gaffer has something to say about all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I realize that I messed up their ages. 
> 
> I haven't been into LOTR for YEARS, until I made my girlfriend watch all of the Hobbit movies followed by the LOTR trilogy recently. Needless to say, I got hooked again. 
> 
> But I couldn't remember how old everyone was supposed to be! I was thinking Frodo was 33 when they all left with the ring, and that would make Sam 5 years older than him. But alas, I discovered that Frodo was 50 when they left, which makes him 12 before Sam was even born. Oh well. I was already over halfway done with this before I realized so I just continued. 
> 
> I actually have a few more ideas in my head with this age disparity so I think I will finish with them before I move on to writing about them with the right ages :)

Sam strolled through the tall grass, looking up appreciatively at the sun-streaked leaves above him. It was perfectly warm as he made his way through the orchard - warm enough for the buzzing of the insects to rise up through the breeze, but not hot enough as to be unpleasant.

It was a fine day all around, the perfect day for an 11-yr old hobbit to cavort and wander and enjoy the feeling of adventurous freedom that would surely give way soon to years of propriety and serious, hard work.

He swung a stick as he walked, slashing it through the grasses and small bushes scattered about, looking around to make sure nobody saw him pretend to be sword-fighting. Such un-hobbitlike fantasies were frowned upon even in the youngest of children, and yet he could not help himself but to be enthralled by the Old Stories, the like of which Mr. Bilbo still told to any lads and lasses that would listen.

Here, a foe that needed to be overcome; there, a friend who needed saving. Sam leaped upon the trunk of a newly-fallen tree and dropped down to the other side with a flourish, muttering to himself under his breath all the things he would surely say to his vanquished enemies as he cut them down. The sunlight could hardly keep up with the blonde curls swinging this way and that as their owner capered along.

Sam continued through the trees, lost in his daydreams, barely seeing the well-known views around him through his visions of heroism and daring adventures. As he dashed around the side of a larger tree to his left, just in the outside line that marked the edge of the orchard along the ridge of the hill, a soft sound above him pulled him up short.

What was that? A bird? He heard it again - definitely not a bird. It sounded like a very young hobbit laughing. At his childish behavior, he thought, mortified at the idea of even a little one seeing him acting so foolishly. 

Sam craned his reddening face backwards, trying to peer through the branches waving above him. The laughter sounded again, louder this time. Despite his embarrassment, Sam couldn't help but grin at the sound. 

"Where are you?" he called, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. 

Another giggle for an answer. Sam grabbed one of the lower branches and swung himself easily off the ground. As he leaned to the right, he was able to catch a brief glimpse of a small head of bouncing brown curls through the boughs.

Laughing himself now, Sam called out, "I've got you now, you little rascal!" 

Overcome with giddiness, the one above could only cling helplessly to a branch as mirth overtook him. Sam bridged the distance between them swiftly, heart lightening as he climbed higher. Soon, he could see a pair of bright blue eyes peeping over drawn up knees.

"There you are," Sam laughed at the younger hobbit as he swung an arm over the branch the other was sitting on and rested his chin on it. "What are you doing up here, anyway?"

Eagerness replaced shyness as the small boy produced a tattered leather-bound book from where he had been clutching it to his chest.

"Reading!" the little one said proudly. "My Uncle Bilbo taught me and now I can read all by myself!"

"Oh, your Uncle Bilbo, huh?" Sam smiled as the other nodded earnestly. "Why, I know him! My old Gaffer tends his gardens, and this very orchard!"

At this the smaller hobbit's face lit up with awe. "Your Gaffer is the one that makes everything look so beautiful here? Oh my," he breathed.

Sam blushed in vicarious discomfit at the praise. "He sure does," Sam returned in spite of his glowing cheeks. "My Gaffer is the best gardener in all of Hobbiton!"

The little hobbit's mouth formed an 'O' as his wide eyes took in Sam and his pronouncement with solemn wonderment. Blue eyes dragged themselves from Sam's face to take in all the countryside around them, attributing even the shine of the sun to the Gaffer's prowess.

"Your Gaffer sure is something," he agreed, and then his face screwed up in confusion. He tilted his head in deep thought and asked, "What's a Gaffer anyway?"

This set Sam to laughing again. Chortling, he scooped up the younger one and carried him down the tree with him. The smiling visage looked up at him with complete trust and contentment as Sam maneuvered them carefully downwards. Sam felt himself swell with a pride his young heart had not known before.

"We call him that because he's so old," Sam answered matter-of-factly once both sets of hairy feet had been set upon the grass. "He's my Da."

"Oh!" the little one's face lit up with understanding. "I have a Da too, and a Ma! They're out on their boat right now, which is why I'm staying with Uncle Bilbo."

"Out on their boat?" Sam repeated in astonishment. "Whatever are they doing that for?"

"Oh, they like it," was the chirped reply as brown curls began to skip down the path. "They do it all the time. They say I'm too young though."

Here a well-practiced pout overtook the small features of Bilbo's nephew's face. They turned upside down as feet went up in the air, and the desired effect of regained merriment smoothed them out again.

The littler hobbit plopped onto the ground and leaned back on his hands, smiling up at Sam. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Samwise Gamgee, at your service," Sam answered with a theatrical bow, grinning all the while. His objective was achieved as the other collapsed in a fit of giggles, holding his sides as he rocked backwards into the grass.

"And yours, young master?" Sam asked as he helped the young boy up to his feet.

"Master Frodo Baggins," was the answer, with an attempt at copying Sam's grand announcement. Instead of executing the bow, however, Frodo tumbled forward once more, weighed down with the hilarity of it all.

Sam gave up on righting the young hobbit and sat down beside him instead. "Master Frodo, huh?" Sam asked, looking down upon his newest friend. Frodo smiled back at him.

"What were you reading, then?" Sam let his curiosity win him over. He couldn't read himself, but oh how he wished he could. He could only imagine the new lands that would open up to him if he could but discern those strange marks placed carefully on bound vellum. Sam stared hungrily at the book still gripped tightly in Frodo's arms.

Frodo noticed his interest and brightened with enthusiasm. "It's a tale about the Elves!" he said excitedly. "About the old days, back before there were even hobbits around!"

Sam could hardly imagine such a world. "What do the Elves do in that tale?" he asked, eyes shining. 

"Well," young Frodo declared, "I shall read it to you and you will find out!"

Sam blinked in surpise. "Oh, you don't have to do all that," he said quickly, thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that half-understood lines were inching closer to them, daring to be crossed.

"Poppycock," Frodo pronounced, then grinned through the gap in his teeth at the opportunity to use such language with no adult hobbits around. "I want to. Besides, I still need just a tiny bit of practice."

Nothing more was needed to sway Sam. The wind was blowing gently along the ridge where they and the apple trees were seated, fragrant branches shielded them from the heat of the midday sun, and he had made a new friend, young as he was, who wanted to read him a story about the Elves. Sam could think of no better situation to find himself in even if he tried. He settled back against a gnarled trunk, propped on either side by sturdy roots, and clasped his hands behind his head to listen.

It was true, Sam decided as he listened to the young one beside him work determinedly through the words on the page, Frodo did need just a tiny bit more practice. He read well for one so young, though, and Sam listened contentedly to stories of ancient battles won and loves lost. 

The sun had moved to the other side of the trees by the time Frodo closed the book with a snap. "That were lovely," Sam said dreamily, smiling up at the clouds passing through the leaves above him. 

"Thank you very much for the story, Master Frodo," He continued in mock seriousness. Frodo knew his game, however, and laughed brightly back at him, little blue eyes crinkling in joy at being able to share one of his favorite stories with his new friend.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to your Uncle, though?" Sam asked, realizing at once how much time had passed. "He ought to be wondering where you have gotten to."

"No, it's alright," Frodo answered with a shrug. "He's gone to town for errands. He knows I can take care of myself," he finished proudly, puffing out his small chest.

The corners of Sam's lips couldn't help but turn up at such a display. "Alright, then," he said. "What should we do now?" Sam had the day off from his apprenticeship with his Gaffer and he was determined to see it through til twilight or later, if possible.

"Come play with me," Frodo answered eagerly. "Let's climb more trees!"

Sam chuckled as he stood up and followed the younger hobbit, who had already taken off down the orchard path. "Wait now," he protested halfheartedly. "Wait for me!"

The same giggle that had stopped Sam earlier in the day floated back to him now; brown curls no longer in sight.

Sam jogged back down through the trees, looking this way and that for young Frodo. He called out his name as he went, laughing through his shortening breath all the while. Finally, he stopped to rest, breathing hard with his hands on his knees. He was more of a long-distance runner than a sprinter, anyways.

Then he heard that laugh again. San looked up and saw Frodo dangling by his knees in the tree above him, hands clamped over his mouth in a failed attempt to keep his location a secret.

"Careful there!" Sam called with a grin as he circled around so he could be directly under the younger boy.

"Don't worry about me!" Frodo called cheerfully, but at that moment the expression on his face changed and Sam knew that something was wrong. 

"Hold on!" Sam shouted, wavering between climbing up the tree and staying where he was so he could catch Frodo if he slipped. Just as a he took a step towards the trunk, Frodo lost his grip and fell with a cry.

Sam jumped back to where he had been moments before just as quickly as he could and managed to collide with Frodo before they hit the ground. For a moment, both boys were still as their breath struggled back to them, leaves floating down gently around them from where they had been disturbed as well.

Still slighly stunned, Sam attempted to take stock of the situation. He held the smaller boy tightly in his grip. Frodo looked up at him with the same shocked expression on his face that Sam knew mirrored his own. He didn't seem to be hurt or upset, though; Sam must have caught him before he hit the ground then.

Matching smiles of relief broke out on each of their faces. Sam climbed to his feet and held out a hand to help Frodo up. It was then that they both noticed it - nothing too major, but Frodo's right knee had been skinned at some point during the scramble.

Sam winced as he saw it and wondered how Frodo would take the small injury. Some hobbit kids, he knew, would bluff and act as though nothing had happened, and some would break down and lie sobbing in the grass until someone came along to get them patched up. Frodo, it appeared, took the middle route.

His eyes welled up with tears that he tried bravely to fight back, and his little face crumbled. 

"Aww, there now," Sam said kindly as he put an arm around his friend. "That ain't nothing to be worried about. We'll get you cleaned up in a jiffy."

Frodo nodded somberly up at him, sniffing hard to keep his pain and fright from leaking all over his face. Sam scooped him up in his arms and turned towards the collection of chimney smoke coming up from the hobbit holes below them. Frodo circled his arms around Sam's neck and leaned against his shoulder. Sam's heart broke a little at the wetness he could feel there.

"Do you think your Uncle Bilbo is still away?" Sam asked. Frodo thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

"Well then," Sam said, " We'll just have to take you down to my Gaffer's house and get you fixed up there."

Frodo nodded his agreement and even seemed to brighten up a little at the prospect. Sam hid a smile and started down the hill away from the trees. 

He told Frodo stories of his own as they went, anything he could think of to keep his young friend's mind off of his fall. It seemed to work, though Sam couldn't have remembered later anything that he had been saying. 

At last they rounded the corner to his home, and Sam carried Frodo inside the gate, setting him down on the bench by the roses where his Ma liked to sit while she was doing her sewing.

"I'll be right back," Sam promised as he disappeared inside for bandages.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't long before Sam had Frodo patched up quite nicely, a clean bandage on his knee, and a cookie that had been sneaked out of the jar on one of his Ma's nicest plates in Frodo's lap.

Cleaning and wrapping Frodo's scrape had brought tears welling to the brim of his eyes once more, but the promise of cookies, the allure of the unfamiliar yet comforting yardscape he found himself in, and Sam's smiling attentiveness soon brought Frodo into good humor again.

Frodo sniffled and dried his eyes, then looked up at Sam with wonder. Something about the way that Sam was taking care of him reminded him of when his Ma had taken care of his Da after he had sprained his ankle tripping over a dock rope. He remembered how his Da had looked at his Ma as she wrapped his ankle carefully- what had they done next? Oh yes, he remembered. Little Frodo smiled serenely, grabbed Sam by the ears and planted a kiss right on his lips.

It was sweet and innocent, and Sam was completely caught off his guard. He didn't want to push Frodo away abruptly since he was so small and banged up at the moment, and he didn't want to hurt his feelings anyways. He knew Frodo was just trying to express his gratitude, so he put his hands gently on Frodo's shoulders and let Frodo be the one to draw away. When he did, Frodo beamed at him, then curled up beside him and started demolishing his snack.

Blushing, Sam turned to see his Gaffer standing in the doorway, watching them. Sam's Gaffer beckoned to him; by the look on his face, Sam knew he was in for it.

When he reached the old man, the Gaffer laid into him. "You ought to know better than that! Who do you think you are anyways? Fooling around with the gentlefolk!"

Sam tried hastily to explain, but in his embarrassment he could do no more than sputter. The Gaffer continued in the same vein for quite a while as Sam hung his head in shame, listening helplessly.

Both Gamgees were oblivious to the pair of large blue eyes watching fearfully from the other side of the yard. Frodo was scared for his new friend. He didn't know why Sam was in trouble, but he knew in his heart it was because of him.

His lower lip began to tremble and he clutched the remainder of his cookie fearfully. Why was this happening? He didn't want his friend to be in trouble because of him. Maybe he shouldn't have - done what? What had he done to get Sam in so much trouble?

Frodo scrunched up his nose to help remember better. He had read to and played with Sam, he had fallen out of the tree, he had been given a cookie, and he had kissed Sam in thanks. It wasn't the cookie, no hobbit would get in trouble for sharing food, or for eating.

Maybe because the Gaffer thought Sam had let Frodo fall out of the tree? But no, that couldn't be - the Gaffer wasn't there when that happened. He coudn't have known about it.

So what then? Either because Frodo had been playing with Sam or because he had kissed him. Tears filled Frodo's eyes. He had liked both of those things - he didn't want to stop spending time with Sam or kissing him in thanks when the older boy took care of him so nicely.

But, Frodo thought as he looked at his friend ducking his head in embarrassment, a stray tear sneaking out of Sam's eye before a brown hand shot out to catch it, if those things were enough to make Sam's Gaffer so angry and Sam so sad, then he would never do them again.

As Frodo made his resolve, the Gaffer neared the end of his tirade. Despite what Sam may have thought in that moment,his Da truly was only concerned for Sam and Frodo's well-being.

He had seen with his old eyes the trouble that came with two hobbits from different stations in life getting a little too friendly. It didn't hold well in this community. Customs were set in their ways, and folk didn't take too kindly to those who went about stirring things up. Better to nip any hint of over-friendliness now while they were still young, than to let it fester in those curly heads to lead only to trouble later.

Still, though, the Gaffer could see that his youngest son was hurt by his words, and even more by the knowledge that what he said held a germ of truth to it.

"Anyways," the Gaffer concluded, a bit more gently than before, "you must think of what is best for young Master Frodo, too."

At this Sam's head shot up, indignation flaring quickly at the idea of him not thinking about what was best for his new friend.

"How would it do for to him to grow up skulking around with gardeners and like?" the Gaffer continued. "It would bring him naught but trouble for folk to think of him so common as that."

Upon hearing those words and knowing they were true, Sam's hold broke completely and he began to sob. It wasn't fair, he thought. Just because he was a gardener and Frodo was a gentle-hobbit, they shouldn't be friends? But he knew already, young as he was, that that was the way things worked around here, fair or not. Two of different backgrounds could mingle quite nicely and be friendly towards each other - even enjoying each other's company - but nothing more. It was alright to be friendly, but not to be friends.

Oh, how the acceptance of that long-known circumstance stung Sam's heart. Little Frodo was awfully younger than he was, but Sam had liked being around him all the same - liked being the one Frodo wanted as a companion, liked being the one who took care of Frodo went something went awry, liked being the one Frodo was so grateful to, his little heart could think of no more appropriate response than the loving one he had just given Sam.

Some of this must have slipped out of Sam's mouth, haltingly and dampened by tears, but the Gaffer understood well enough.

"You can still be there for him," he said kindly, pulling his son's chin up to impart his message more fully, "but you must not forget your place."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, Sam walked Frodo back up the hill to Bag End, a subdued pair if there ever was one. Frodo was frowning at the ground as he walked, and Sam was glancing about restlessly at the sights around him, usually comforting in their familiarity but this evening made strange and new in the bright light refracted through the moistness that still clung to his lashes.

They stopped at the gate. Sam saw a light moving in the hobbit hole towards the door.

"Alright then," he said, trying to inject his voice with a cheerfulness he did not feel. The sullen look on Frodo's upturned face told him his acting needed some improving upon.

"Here we are," Sam finished lamely.

Frodo turned away from him and looked towards the bright green door, whose knob was beginning to turn. Frodo put out a small hand to open the gate and marched up the steps towards his uncle's home, not looking back once. Still Sam lingered, though he could not have said why.

Suddenly the door burst open and Bilbo came spilling out of it, sheathed in candlelight.

"Thank you, my boy!" he called to Sam as he ushered Frodo inside.

Ever more aware of the gap between them, Sam smiled wanly and waved back at the retreating pair.

The door shut behind them, and still Sam stood. He looked around. One day he would work in the surrounding gardens and orchards and fields, just as his Gaffer did now. His eyes moved from the place of his future occupation to the dwelling of his masters.

Laughter and the smell of dinner wafted up from the village below to where Sam stood. Slowly, he turned and started back down the hill.


End file.
